


If You Can Make It There

by krabapple



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-09
Updated: 2011-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-27 03:39:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krabapple/pseuds/krabapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New York, New York – it's a wonderful town. When Neville runs into Harry unexpectedly, he gets more than a few surprises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Can Make It There

Neville's first job post-Hogwarts was as an herbal medical assistant at St. Mungos. He worked in their greenhouse, tended all kinds of medicinal plants, and visited his parents five days a week; his gran visited him twice a week. They would eat lunch in the hospital cafeteria, soup and sandwiches, sometimes steak and kidney pie, and then they would take the lift to the 32nd floor where Augusta Longbottom would once again regale her son and daughter-in-law with the tale of the Battle of Hogwarts. If Neville tired of this routine, he never said so, and it seemed to him that Augusta took such pleasure out of it that he never would get tired of it – or say so.

So to Neville, the second best thing about working at St. Mungos was that once a year they sent him away for five days to listen to preeminent medicinal herbologists talk about things like gillyweed and magical purple daisies. These conferences were never in Britain; they were the closest thing to vacations that Neville had ever taken, and he enjoyed them immensely. A week away (the hospital paid for weekends, too), an expense account and endless talk about plants was all, Neville thought, he really needed to be happy. When he was eighteen he went to Tokyo; when he was nineteen he went to Berlin. The year he was twenty, they sent him to New York.

It was November, and chilly for that time of year, though not outright cold. It was damp and grey, fizzling rain falling for three days. The natives had been complaining about it, but Neville found it comforting. He liked the droplets on his gloves, the mist in the air. He didn't really understand why New Yorkers had their umbrellas out, their heads down. Neville kept his head up, allowing the water to sparkle like silver lights in his dark hair.

He was on the subway platform at Columbus Circle, patiently waiting for the 1 or the 9 to take him back to his modest West Village hotel when he spotted Harry Potter standing a few feet away on the same crowded platform. At first Neville wasn't sure it really was Harry; it was crowded, of course, and there was no shortage of dark haired scrawny young men in New York, though not particularly in this neighborhood. But then the crowd parted again, and there was Harry; Neville knew it was him by the way he adjusted the wire-rimmed glasses on his nose. The index finger that pushed on the bridge twice in rapid succession was a dead giveaway.

Neville eased down the platform carefully. He didn't want to shout Harry's name aloud; there were plenty of wizards in New York, and most of those took the subway like everyone else – apparition was all well and good in a city of eight million people until those people started wondering why friends, neighbors and strangers just disappeared in the middle of the street. Despite reputation, it wasn't that easy to be lost around here – the Post loved reporting on those kinds of stories. If there were wizards in the crowd, American or not they would know the name Harry Potter, and it wasn't as if Neville wanted to start a riot at 59th street.

But it wasn't exactly easy to sneak up on Harry Potter, either, and Neville was still five feet away when he saw Harry's right hand disappear into his jacket pocket, no doubt to close around the wand Harry was hiding inside. Not eager to be on the receiving end of Harry Potter's large array of potential curses, Neville suddenly coughed loudly. The woman in front of him turned around, frowning as if to reprimand him that he had better not be spreading the black plague. She was about to open her mouth when Neville stopped her by saying, loudly enough to carry the length of the station, "Sorry, sorry. Bit of the old DA, you know. Not contagious, not anymore. Sorry, sorry."

The woman huffed in response, turning away, but Neville knew he had gotten the message across when bright green eyes flashed his way and Harry's hand came out of his pocket. Neville managed to squeeze out a spot next to Harry, shuffling a man in a business suit further to his left.

Harry grinned. "Hello works well enough, too, Longbottom."

Neville smiled back. "Not with your hand already on your wand," he said softly.

"Fair enough." Harry relaxed even further, the line of his shoulders softening just a bit. "I can't believe I'd meet you here."

"St. Mungos," Neville replied simply. "The annual medical herbologist conference is here at the Time-Warner Center."

"I didn't think they'd finished that yet," Harry answered. The 1 roared by and they let it, by mutual silent agreement allowing the people around them to flow into the train while they stayed on the platform with the rest of the poor souls waiting for the 9.

"Oh, well, no. Not for Muggles. Wizarding part's been up for a year now, though. Really good wards on it, curses to keep the Muggles away. Fancy, fancy place. Way more glass than the Ministry." Neville smiled benignly at a woman who was glancing at him sideways. She looked away.

"I don't know, I hear they've put in more glass since the last time we were at the Ministry." Harry grinned wryly.

Though he hadn't been worried about mentioning the Ministry in front of Harry, Neville was surprised to hear Harry joke about it. "Are you still traveling?"

Harry nodded. "Taking a tour up the east coast of the U.S. – just came in from Philadelphia a couple of days ago."

"I didn't get a postcard," Neville joked. It was true, though – Harry had been traveling on and off for at least the past two years, and Neville did get a letter or postcard from nearly every destination. He considered himself lucky; Harry had never corresponded very much with anyone outside of Ron and Hermione, and later Ginny. He liked to know how Harry was; it comforted him somehow, perhaps because of that year when very nearly no one living had known where Harry Potter was spending his time.

"There's probably one waiting for you from Miami at home."

Neville laughed. "I never thought you'd be one for Miami."

"It was awful."

"I'm sure. The wonderful weather, the cheap alcohol, the pretty girls. Merlin, Harry, you have a terrible lot in life."

At that, Harry laughed. "The alcohol isn't that cheap."

"Considering we're not even legal in this country yet, I'm not going to ask how you know that."

Harry laughed again.

"You also didn't deny the girls were pretty," Neville added.

At that, Harry blushed and this time it was Neville who laughed. After what had been, by all accounts, a torrid summer following the defeat of Voldemort, Harry and Ginny had cooled things off by mutual agreement (again, by all accounts), so she could finish her education at Beaxbattons on scholarship and so Harry could spend some time recovering from the war in a non-Ginny way. Neville kept in even closer contact with Ginny than he did with Harry; he saw her at least once a week, or whenever she was in London during the Quidditch season. He knew Ginny was going out with a member of the Cannons, at least casually, and it had crossed Neville's mind how Harry was managing on his trips to various locales. Judging from the amount of pink in Harry's neck and cheeks, not too badly, which made Neville smile in amusement.

The lights of the number 9 started to shine on the dirty subway tracks. Harry nodded. "You know, the alcohol in my mini-bar isn't cheap, either, but at least we wouldn't have to magic up our identification. Or Obliviate anyone. Not that I do that, of course," Harry added hastily.

The train came to a screeching halt in front of them. Neville continued to smile. "Room service and tiny bottles of vodka? How could I refuse?"

This time, Harry and Neville boarded the train.

*

A few hours later, Neville surveyed the wreckage. Harry was staying in a nice hotel in midtown, in a suite. They had mostly settled in the living room section, sprawling on the couch and floor in front of the telly. Neville was half-sitting, half-lying on the soft, carpeted floor. There were various food baskets and plates on the floor, the coffee table, by the lamp. The mini-bar had indeed been raided, and Neville had come to be deeply impressed by Harry's tolerance for Muggle whisky. On Neville's part, he had had more beer – and of more variety – than he ever had before in his life. He found he really didn't like pale ale.

"So here we are," Harry said.

Neville agreed. "Here we are."

"Two young, handsome wizards."

Again, Neville agreed, this time by nodding. "Very handsome."

"Single."

"Aye."

"We could be any in club we wanted to, in this huge city, partying our night away."

"We could."

Harry swung his arm onto the couch from where he was sitting on the floor. "I like this better," he grinned.

Neville smiled back sappily. "Me, too." Even though he agreed, he found he was vastly underprepared for Harry to lean over and kiss him. His brain addled by too much beer and the new heat of Harry's lips, it took Neville a moment to catch up. His first thought was that Harry was a sloppy kisser. The whole thing was _wet_. Not that he minded, really, he just wondered if Harry always kissed like that or if it was all the whiskey. It was only after he pondered these important questions for a while that he came around to the fact that Harry was kissing him in the first place. He pulled away, and their lips separated with a slightly wet, sucking sound. See, wet, his brain managed to think at him before he took in Harry, flushed and slightly breathless, but otherwise non-plussed.

"You're probably wondering why I did that," Harry started.

Neville didn't say yes, because that was not, in fact, what he had been thinking.

"I just felt like it," Harry continued.

Neville nodded, as this made sense to him. At the moment.

"You were just sitting there, looking happy and . . ." Harry trailed off. There was silence for a few moments, until Harry ended with: "Kissable."

Again, this made sense to Neville, so he nodded.

"I was just thinking . . ." Harry continued, looking down now at the carpet. "Have you ever?"

"Ever?" Neville echoed. He had gone out with Luna for about a year after Hogwarts; he liked her, loved her even, and they shared a fascination for nature that few others could appreciate. But after a while, Luna's adventurous wanderings had gotten too adventurous for Neville, who discovered that he liked a comfortable bed and regular supper more than he liked searching for merdunkin roots in the dark at two a.m. However, to say Luna wasn't adventurous in _other_ areas, too . . . "Yes, yeah, yeah. _Ever_."

"Right, right," Harry hastily added. "I meant . . . with another bloke."

Neville had a sudden, horrifying thought. "If this is about Ron – "

"Oh God," Harry blurted. "Shit. No. _No_."

"Okay."

" _No_."

"You two are so close, but Hermione – "

"Merlin's smelly sweat socks, Neville."

"Okay, okay. Okay."

"It's not like that."

" _Okay_." Neville sighed.

Harry looked at him speculatively. "I still want to kiss you. Again, I mean."

Neville wondered if it would be as wet this time. "Yeah, okay."

So Harry did, leaning in, mouth covering Neville's. It wasn't quite as wet this time, but it was good, and Neville opened his mouth before he could even think about it. Harry was fast, his tongue sneaking in and running across Neville's own. Harry tasted like whisky, which was good, too. When Harry pulled away, Neville was panting slightly.

"I haven't," Harry said.

Neville tried to find the thread of conversation. It took him about three full minutes. "Oh," was what he managed when he did.

"I just."

"Want to?" Neville offered.

"Yeah. Sorta."

"That's a ringing endorsement," Neville said, admiring Harry's blush.

"I've had a bit of a crush on you since third year, actually." Harry cleared his throat.

"What?"

"A small one." Harry demonstrated using his thumb and index finger.

"Really?"

"Since that boggart lesson."

Neville thought. "Defense makes you hot?"

Harry blushed even harder. "Er – I guess," he mumbled.

Neville laughed until Harry silenced him with another kiss. And another. And another. When they eventually had to break apart to get some air, Neville had to admit he seemed to be onboard the sudden "get-Harry-laid-by-a-bloke" project.

"You want to?" Harry breathed.

Neville gulped, shifting a bit to take notice of his half-hard cock. "Er. I guess." Neville considered. "I think we're just drunk enough."

"Yeah, me, too." Harry suddenly scrambled off the floor into a standing position. Neville tried to follow, but only made it as far as sitting on the couch. Harry's fingers were already at his zip, and he pulled down his trousers and pants before Neville could even say anything.

Neville stared.

"What?" Harry asked.

"I just . . ."

" _What_?"

Neville managed to pull his gaze away to meet Harry's eyes and not his cock. "I've never seen another – you know."

Harry's brow furrowed. His cock, Neville noticed, was already hard and bobbed up and down. "We went to boarding school, Neville."

"I was modest."

Harry sighed.

"You have?" Neville asked.

"Quidditch," Harry answered.

"I'm suddenly sorry I never took an interest," Neville said honestly.

Harry laughed and moved closer.

"Can I touch it?" Neville asked.

"Oh, Merlin, _please_ ," Harry said, positioning himself between Neville's legs where Neville had sprawled on the couch.

Neville reached out a hand, letting his fingers brush against Harry's cock. It jumped, and Neville smiled. Neville used his fingers to brush up and down, getting used to the length. Harry was a bit longer than he was, though not quite as thick, Neville thought, not that it mattered when Harry's breath suddenly hitched and his hands fell onto the top of the couch on either side of Neville's head. Harry's head bowed into Neville's field of vision; his hair was black and shiny, the light reflecting off of it. Neville had a sudden urge and leaned forward and kissed the top of Harry's head. Neville closed his fist around Harry's cock and pumped a couple of times, feeling the heat in his palm, not so different from his own. The moan that came from Harry when Neville squeezed, however, was nothing like Neville's own voice. Neville rubbed a thumb experimentally over the tip, and Harry grunted.

"Neville," Harry managed shakily.

"Yeah?" Neville stopped but didn't remove his hand.

Harry raised his head, his eyes wide. "Can I see yours?"

"Yeah." Neville swallowed hard. "Yeah."

Harry took his hands off the back of the couch and leaned in, quickly planting a kiss on Neville's adam's apple before kissing Neville again on the mouth, hot and open-mouthed and fast. He undid the buttons on Neville's shirt while Neville quickly undid his own fly, pushing down his pants and trousers, lifting his ass from the couch to do so. He was fully hard now, and beginning to ache with it – he wanted touch as soon as possible.

Again, though, Harry caught Neville off guard, and instead of wrapping his hand around Neville's cock, Harry dropped to his knees. Neville barely had time to gasp before Harry took him in his mouth.

This, Neville thought, was _wet_.

It was good, too. Though it was clear that Harry wasn't exactly skilled in this area, the sheer heat almost made up for it. Neville looked down and saw Harry's dark head starting to bob up and down as Harry experimented with length, and the sight of Harry Potter between his legs, the feel of Harry's mouth wet on his own cock, was almost enough to make Neville come. He closed his eyes and threw his head back instead, willing himself to at least find time to warn Harry if not to make this last longer. Teeth suddenly grazed him, but Neville didn't care, the back of his head reaching the top of the couch. Suddenly Harry pulled away, and Neville's cock hit the cool air; he was about to say something but looked down first to see Harry gazing at his cock with concentration, as if to figure out just what to do. Neville nearly came again just from seeing the intent expression on Harry's face, all of that energy focused on him, on his cock, but before he could Harry leaned forward again, taking Neville once again into his mouth. Neville sighed, but before he could relax, Harry hummed, loudly and hard, and all Neville could manage was, " _Holy_. Harry," before he felt his balls tighten and pull up as he came. He heard Harry cry, " _Merlin_ ," but barely registered the sound over the roar in his ears.

By the time Neville opened his eyes, Harry was attempting to discreetly wipe his mouth on his sleeve. He caught Neville looking and suddenly laughed, a bright sound, a flush still present on his cheekbones and chin. Neville grinned in return, still breathing heavily.

"Er," Harry started.

Neville laughed. "So."

"Yeah."

"Nice," Neville said.

"Yeah." Harry grinned. They were quiet for a moment.

"If you want, I could produce a patronus, and we could have another go," Neville offered.

"I think we could probably manage without the patronus," Harry said. "Though fewer clothes might be nice."

"You sure? Expelleramus? Full body bind?"

"Shut _up_ ," Harry said, rising off his knees and leaning forward for a kiss.

"Riddikulus?" Neville mumbled through the kiss, and Harry laughed.


End file.
